


Let Go

by BitterSilence



Series: Young Justice: Under the Red Hood [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Age Reversal, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Gen, Tim is the Second Robin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 11:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitterSilence/pseuds/BitterSilence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is how it ends. And later, how it begins.</p><p>[Robin age reversal. Tim is killed by the Joker and dumped in the Pit by Ra's al Ghul.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Go

 

> **January 15, 2006**
> 
> **2200 Hours**
> 
> **Sarajevo, Bosnia**

Something crunched under the crowbar and another point of agony joined the rest.

Oh god let it stop. Batman – Bruce – anyone—

“So which hurts worse? A or B? Forehand or backhand?”

Tim shuddered and bit back anything louder than a grunt. He wouldn’t scream. He wouldn’t give the Joker the satisfaction. “I bet you already know, you psycho,” Tim tried to mutter. It came out as an unintelligible huff. He couldn’t breathe properly.

“A little louder lambchop! I think you may have a collapsed lung!” The Joker stage-whispered, grinning even wider than before. He kneeled down next to Tim’s face and took a handful of his hair, yanking his head up. A thought flashed through Tim’s mind. It probably wasn’t smart, but – little, if anything, he did was going to change whatever the Joker had planned for him. So he spat a mouthful of blood into the Joker’s face. He only grinned wider, and slammed Tim’s face down into the cold concrete floor of the warehouse. Tim’s nose snapped under the pressure and he let out a pained moan. Tim considered moving, but. Everything hurt. He was exhausted, cold, and scared.

Damian would be ashamed.

“Now that was rude. The first Boy Blunder had some manners. More competent, too – _he_ never got captured. I suppose I should teach you a lesson so you can better follow in his footsteps…nah. I’m just gonna keep beating you with this crowbar.” The Joker shoved him down with a boot on the back of his neck and began to laugh. Tim squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to ignore the pain the crunch of breaking bones by falling into that untouchable place Bruce had taught him to find. Laughter kept jerking him away from that refuge.

Tim knew how far away Batman was. He’d been in this warehouse with the Joker for just under half an hour. It wouldn’t be long before he started drowning in his own blood – Tim could feel the broken ribs prodding at his soft tissues. There was one on his right side that was particularly painful, and he suspected that it had already ruptured the lung. The Joker showed no signs of relenting. Tim was going to die if Batman didn’t get here soon. But if nothing else, Batman was always, always good at showing up in time, especially for his Robins. Tim had never not been able to count on him.

What a way to go, being beaten to death by a cackling mass-murderer. Tim could already imagine Damian’s disgust at his helplessness.

And – yeah, that swing had punctured his right lung. Tim bit back a scream. He didn’t want to die.  He had to get away --

The Joker looked down at him, cackled, and straightened his tie. “Well then kiddo, it’s been fun. I’ve gotta run – be a good boy and finish your homework!”

Tim allowed himself a sigh of relief. The Joker wasn’t going to finish him off. Perhaps because Robin was a part of Batman..? Or maybe he’d just wanted to send the message that he _could,_ if he wanted to. It’d worked.

The Joker strolled out of the warehouse, whistling an unfamiliar tune. “We had fun though, right? Well, maybe a smidge more fun for me then you. I’m just guessing since you’re being awful quiet. See you on the flipside, Replacement!”

Tim hated that name.

Mostly because it was true.

He waited until the Joker had shut the door to maneuver his body so his hands were tied in front of him. Tim didn’t even try to get up; with his current injuries, he’d only fall over and injure himself more. Taking a pained, shuddering breath, he used his mostly undamaged arms to drag himself towards the door. Tim got there, but he realized it was locked as soon as he jiggled the handle. Why had the Joker locked the door? Did he want to ensure Batman would be the one to find him? Was there Joker Venom stored in a time-release gas bomb somewhere in the warehouse?

_Beep._

_Beep._

No. Neither of those.

A large stack of explosives was piled up next to the door, the large analogue timer reading 00:09. Tim hadn’t been able to see it from his earlier position and he wasn’t capable of disarming it before the timer went off. The Joker had wanted him to crawl to the door and _know_ that he was going to die before it happened.

Tim watched with a wide eye – his left was quickly swelling shut – as he lost another second. Nonono he didn’t want to die – he still had to prove to Damian (Nightwing, Big Brother, first Robin) that he could be a good Robin – he had to tell Bruce ‘thank you for taking me in even though I approached you and not the other way around’ – and. He’d never get to teach Jason (his responsibility, his little bird) how to use a bo.

He swallowed those thoughts back with no little amount of effort and allowed his eyes to fall shut. Tim leaned back against the cold steel door and just…let it go. Let it all go. It was death on the battlefield, or something close enough to it that it was an acceptable way to die. The timer in his head ticked down alongside the one perched on the pile of explosives.

_Three._

_Two._

_One._

Heatpressurenoiseorange ---

Nothing.

 

 

 

> **Two to Six Months Later**
> 
> **Unknown Location**

The Lazarus Pit seeped into his cracks, but didn’t repair them. Like acid, it widened them, from small imperfections to ugly, permanent scarring.

He woke up to pale, bubbling green, and screamed. There was instinct:  fear, pain, _whyamihere_. He felt more than saw two cloaked men restrain him. He reacted. There were swords at their hips. He killed them before they could begin react. More came, and he was – angry. So angry. He wanted to tear something, anything, apart. He didn't know why. Didn't care, either.

They subdued him eventually, but at least five of them died and another three crippled. He fell unconscious as a regally dressed older man swept through the crowd like a god through mortals. 

"Rest," the man said. "You have earned it."

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a 'verse I'm working on. It's essentially a comics and Young Justice cartoon fusion with a focus on the Batfamily and the Red Hood (Tim).


End file.
